


for we were written in the starlight

by Arrowsbane



Category: Firefly
Genre: Do-Over, reset
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 06:30:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8360989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arrowsbane/pseuds/Arrowsbane
Summary: The girl is dying. They are all dying. The wave flickers onto every screen and the girl sighs in relief. At least Miranda will have justice. And then she is gone. [The crew of Serenity were written on her soul in starlight long before she was born.] There is something missing. There is someone missing. Fourteen-year-old River Tam knows this.





	

_and you were written in my story, destined to collide with me..._

The girl is dying. They are all dying. So much fear and pain, so much running. There was joy too, it was not all pain; there was happiness and a few precious days of sunlight under a blue sky, but those are gone and done. The Alliance created the Reavers, and the Reavers slay all in their path. The pilot is dead; the leaf that danced so keenly on the wind has fallen to the cold earth and now the others will follow. One for all, and all for one. The wave flickers onto every screen, beaming out across the ‘verse and the girl sighs in relief. At least the secret is out. At least Miranda will have justice. This will be her legacy.

And then she is gone.

* * *

There is something missing. There is _someone_ missing, or perhaps many someones.

Fourteen-year-old River Tam knows this, even as she sits in the opulent gardens of her family estate on Osiris. She is the daughter to a very powerful man, and sister to a boy who will become one of the best Doctor’s in the ‘verse. She leaves those called genius in the dust, her IQ so far outstripping them that she is her own class of intelligence. Yet something is missing.

She shouldn’t be lucid, River thinks, she should be wailing and screaming, trapped inside her own mind, but she is no longer the damaged girl so far from home. Her mind is expanded beyond what it would naturally be, has trained itself to bypass the barriers of the psyche and look into another’s soul – only now she is whole, and that makes all the difference. She is a true reader.

There will always be lingering nuances, always be signs of the no-longer-existing-future in her manner – from the way she leaves her hair unbound (in a manner that infuriates the perfectly coiffed Regan Tam) to her habits of seeking out hard-to-reach places and hiding in doorways. But now River is the one in control, and she likes it this way. The Academy will come for her, they will want her supposed latent talent, want to turn her into a weapon but she does not want to be that frightened girl anymore.

So River tosses her head to the sky and becomes… _difficult_.

* * *

“River,” Regan Tam’s voice echoes through the large, pristine library like a honeyed balm, “There’s some very special visitors here to see you.”

It would normally be considered inappropriate for the Lady of the Household to go searching for her wayward child, normally a task would be given to the servants. But River Tam is no ordinary child, and with Simon gone, the only person who might have a chance in persuading her is her own mother.

River’s latest hiding spot is tucked away on a high up window ledge, hidden between the crystalline glass and a heavy purple velvet drapery. Somewhere no human should naturally be able to reach, a place that is dusted and cleaned by drones. River leans forwards, peering out at her mother from beneath a wave of chestnut hair. She blinks, twice, considering her options; then she obediently pushes away from her perch, ignoring her mother’s shrill scream of terror and twists in midair as she sails gracefully toward the floor to land on whisper-quiet feet.

“Okay,” she says, smiling as she brushes imaginary dust from her dress.

Regan stands there with a hand pressed to her chest, resting over her racing heart. Horror is painted quite clearly on her face, and it takes her a full minute to gather her thoughts and correct herself, nervously gulping down air as she comes to terms with the fact that her teenaged daughter had indeed fallen a good twenty feet and landed like a cat.

“I-in the parlor, darling,” Her voice wavers for a second, but she keeps her back straight and clears her face. River steps lightly on dancer’s feet toward the sunlight parlor where she knows a battle of the minds must be fought. She remembers this from the last time, and declares that this time will be different – this time she will not follow them to the slaughterhouse.

Two strangers sit on her mother’s handmade chaise-lounges, pristine in appearance with kind smiles and gentle eyes – but they are not strangers, they are bad people with bad thoughts and unclean souls hidden behind the calm facade – and she inclines her head in a regal manner, greeting them politely. In truth, she cares little for the words they will speak, River has heard them before, and even now she can hear them waiting to be used, a well-rehearsed script in their cruel minds.

“Hello River,” the woman says, “we’ve been waiting a long time to meet you.” The smile on the woman’s face is soft like summer rain, but River’s mind hardens against the thoughts the scientist hides. _[Perfect specimen: such potential, light-weight form perfect for dance and martial arts, high intelligence – off the charts, so far beyond genius. I wonder how she would perform after some modifications?]_

“I know,” River says, shifting her weight and cases all exits with a mere flicker of her eyes. Behind her, Regan moves into the room and settles on the chaise-lounge opposite the scientists and pours tea from an ornate teapot into delicate china cups painted blue and gold.

The Academy representatives waffle on like Before, they tell her all about the curriculum, and how well she will do, how much she will be challenged. To a naïve and trusting core-born genius it might sound perfect, like a dream. It might sound too good to be true… but River is not listening.

 _Is a weapon without a hand to wield it still a weapon, or is it a mathom filled with untapped potential sitting on a shelf?_ She wonders, tilting her head to the side. And then she decides that it does not matter.

“When shall we expect you?” The man says, tapping away on his tablet.

“You shall not,” River tells him, secretly delighting in the frowns her refusal garners.

“That’s wonder— I’m sorry, what?” River wrinkles her nose and pushes off of the couch, standing proudly as she faces her would-be-masters.

“I will not be attending the Academy.” She says evenly, “There is nothing you can teach me that I wish to learn.” And it is true, she has no desire to learn how to kill, how to fire a gun, to become one of many sharp little knives sitting in a lonely dank drawer waiting to be used by a faceless entity. As they would say on Earth-that-was: Been there, done that.

When she walks away, she does not look back.

* * *

River is sixteen when she decides that she’s had enough of being toted around the high-society parties like a pretty little bird in a pretty little dress. She files papers for emancipation and squirrels away credits like they are going out of fashion.

Clothes are bought, not the fancy frills that her mother likes to call fashion, but sensible shirts and pants made of durable fabrics, some of them fancy enough to be considered formal, but most of them in earthy or jeweled tones. Deep greens and ruby tones are combined with dust brown and beige’s – colors that will blend into the landscape. There are a few skirts in there too, paired with leggings in neutral shades – nostalgia fuels those purchases, memories of dancing under the sky are among those she refuses to give up.

She buys a collapsible hairbrush to replace the over-large silver one that sits on her dresser and picks out a few sturdy pairs of boots that are comfy and will wear well. She chooses wisely, ensures that she will not have more than two duffle bags and a small belt-bag to carry.

Six months after her birthday, the papers come back. She is free to fly the coop, and so she does. She leaves a note though, because in the end, the Tams are still her family.

 _I am sorry,_ the note reads, _that I could not be the daughter you wished for. But their names were written on my soul in starlight long before you or I were born._

From Osiris, she takes a shuttle straight to Persephone under an alias.

Perhaps it may have been cleverer to take the long way round, to plant-hop her way around the Core and give the impression that the core-born socialite wanted to explore – but it runs the risk of her parent’s sending somebody to bring her home, even with the Emancipation in place. Persephone is the Gateway to the outer rings of the ‘verse, on a direct space-lane from Osiris, and it should be easy enough to disappear from there.

Persephone is where she will wait.

* * *

“Hello,” she says softly, kicking her legs back and forth as she smiles down at them from her perch atop Serenity’s warm hull. The crew of Serenity is safe and well, brimming with the incandescent, yet invisible fire that is life-force; the sheer sight of them together – even if it is only just Mal, Wash and Zoe right now – is beyond breathtaking, a miracle that pieces together yet another broken fragment in her lonely heart.

It is the first time she has seen them in this lifetime, looking down at them with eyes only sixteen years old, but a soul aged more than twenty-two summers. They are glorious, and she loves them all the more; is so thankful that this time around she can speak the words that were so hard to find, words that were clogged in her throat like heavy smog from a Reaver’s ship.

“Well now,” Mal says, blinking up at her with a hand raised to shield his eyes from the burning sun, “and who might you be?”

“A girl,” River says, “a girl who wants to see the stars.”

She is home.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Karliene’s “Destined” from the album: Queen of Camelot. I heard it and was spellbound, my mind immediately pivoted to Firefly and River Tam. 
> 
> “The stars forever unchanging, they guide us on paths unseen;  
> And you were written in my story, destined to collide with me.” 
> 
> I already held Karliene’s “Boudica” in my mind as River’s Theme, but this just ran away with my keyboard and I found I could regret nothing. Additional music: “The River” by Blue Saraceno.


End file.
